Page 55 of Crownless Heirs

The Dagda was testing them; that much was blindingly clear. Two hours ago, Kyron had tried to bypass the trek entirely, gathering his mist to teleport them to the summit. Instead, a violent snap of warding magic had violently thrown them backward, leaving them coughing in the dirt fifty feet further down the mountain. Frustration had boiled over, and with bruised egos and sore limbs, they reluctantly started the grueling climb. Only those strong enough to endure the mountain’s wrath earned the right to stand before the City of Gorias.

Suddenly, Noctis swirled around Sorcha’s boots, her misty form churning in restless, agitated waves before she let out a low whine. As Sorcha took another step forward, the shadow-hound froze. She pressed her nose against the empty air, her dark mist flattening against an invisible, shimmering barrier that rippled across the path. Noctis’s edges began to fracture and dissolve, her form flickering violently as she tried to fight the city’s perimeter wards.

Sorcha slowed to a halt, a pang of heavy understanding settling deep in her chest. Noctis couldn’t cross the threshold. The ancient, divine energy of Gorias refused to let a creature of pure shadow enter.

Sorcha stepped back across the line, kneeling into the dirt. “I’ll see you when we leave,” she whispered, her fingers ghosting through the chilly, shifting mist. Noctis gave her one last lingering look before collapsing inward, scattering into the mountain shadows. With a steadying breath, Sorcha stood and turned her attention back to the summit.

The massive silver gates loomed out of the fog, flanked by towering obsidian walls whose smooth surfaces were deeply etched with silver runes that hummed with a faint pulsing light.

Sorcha was mesmerized, caught in the sheer grandeur of it all, when the crack of a spear striking the ground snapped her back to the present.

A soldier stepped forward, “State your name and reason for entering the city.

Kyron stepped forward. “Sorcha, Kyron, and Maelan. We were sent by the Dagda to see Goibniu.”

The soldiers exchanged glances. Then, without a word, one turned and motioned them forward while the other pushed open the great gates, leading them into the heart of Gorias.

26

The City of Victory

The city cascaded down the peaks in a fortress of sandstone and dark volcanic glass, its towering ramparts bound together by thick veins of raw amethyst that pulsed with a slow, purple heartbeat. Colossal metal statues of legendary warlords stood guard over the plazas, their polished surfaces reflecting the forge-fire below.

As they drew closer, the heavy air vibrated with a deafening symphony. The rhythmic, earth shaking clang of blacksmiths’ hammers ringing against metal echoed off the stone, blending with the sound of blasting of furnaces. It was a hauntingly beautiful song of creation and violence. Higher up the tiers, the roaring shouts of warriors drifted down as they moved through training drills, the sharp clash of steel swords cutting through the thick air. At the very heart of the mountain, a citadel of obsidian and gold pierced the sky. Its sharp spires reached toward the heavy clouds like a cluster of raised spears, Goibnius Forge.

As they stepped into the forge, heat washing over them in waves, thick with the scent of molten metal and burning coal. Golden light flickered across the walls, illuminating rows of anvils, tools, and carefully laid out metals of every kind. The cavernous space filled with the crackling of fire, its glow reflecting off blades in various stages of completion. At the center of it all stood Goibniu.

He was a towering presence, his muscles shifting beneath his bronzed skin. His presence was powerful, but there was warmth to it. His leather apron, worn and singed at the edges and his hands still stained with soot.

Sorcha stepped forward, shoulders squared. “We were sent by the Dagda.”

Goibniu nodded, his gaze sweeping over them. “You don’t say” He gestured to the array of materials before them. “I offered to allow you to make yourselves armor or weapons, or both, if you need.”

They stood there, silent as the fire spit sparks into the air. Sorcha’s brows furrowed slightly, unsure if she had misunderstood. The Dagda had sent them here to receive weapons not forge them.

Goibniu, as if reading her thoughts, smiled. He moved then, stepping forward as the forge responded to his presence, flames flickering to the ceiling.

“You need steel first,” he said, his deep voice rolling over them like distant thunder, “It’ll bend with the right touch, learning to listen to it is the hard part.” He flipped the blade effortlessly, folding the metal as if it were silk, his strikes a perfect rhythm. “And if you do not listen, it’ll fight you.”

He turned to them, placing the hammer down. “Now You.”

The forge fell into stillness again as Sorcha reached for the hammer. Taking a breath, she mimicked the god’s movement, lifting it high and striking down. The metal split beneath her hands, the heat having escaped before she could shape it.

Goibniu tilted his head. “It was too cold, it wasn’t in the forge long enough. Let’s try it again.”

She reset the metal by reheating it, and tried again. This time, she bent it too far, warping the shape beyond repair. A frustration rose in her but she forced it down. Try after try she raised and lowered the anvil. And then she missed entirely. The hammer slipped from her grasp and came crashing down onto Kyron’s foot.

He let out a curse, stumbling back as he gripped his boot, glaring at her.

From behind, Maelan burst into laughter, nearly doubling over, his whole body shaking. “That ” he gasped, “was beautiful.”

Still laughing, he raised his own hammer, only for his grip to slip completely. His half-formed sword snapped in two, the broken piece tumbling onto the floor.

Kyron, still wincing, smirked. “That was even better.”

Goibniu chuckled. “You’ll get it…. eventually.”

And so it went. Hours passed in fire and frustration, the forge filled with the constant ring of failed strikes, muttered curses, and occasional yelps when the metal refused to cooperate.